(via starehard)
As he sat in his chair, staring across a driving range at his mother’s prom dress getting singed at the hemline by rocket exhaust, his mind flashed back to the night he wrote the scene. It seemed to tie the entire movie together while at the same time providing the exhilarating POW! around which the film could be marketed. It would make all of the sacrifice worth it, all of the grovelling to his sister to get her sorority to party with the 30-something guys from the aerodynamics firm, all of the debt accrued on his credit card to pay for the rocket components and fuel, all of the crime, from the theft of the ladies’ slacks display from Macy’s to the trespassing on the driving range. As he watched the mannequin-rocket slowly approach its apex and heard the snickering of his crew, he realized that as the mannequin fell back towards earth, it took every ounce of ambition he had with it. If Prom Queen From Space: The 400-Yard Drive were to ever be a movie, it would have to become one in more able hands than his.
